He breathed deep. Today he went back; back to face the stares, the whispers and the disgusted faces. Those people, they were once his friends. They once stood by his side against the world. Now they refuse even eye contact.

   Pulling on his shirt and trainers, he set off downstairs to the dining hall where he was to meet his father and mother before leaving. He stepped through the mahogany double doors calmly, his face a mirror to those who looked upon it. He wouldn’t show fear, he mustn’t show fear. It wasn’t acceptable to be afraid in his family. If you were, then you would soon be shown the door. Upstanding purebloods like themselves were to be respected, and feared.

    His inability to murder last term, thankfully for him, had been dismissed. Being so young, they had given him a chance to redeem himself. All he had to do was eliminate one single redhead, and make it look like an accident. He smirked, it wasn’t often he was asked to do such a thing; this was his one opportunity to ascend the ladder. Maybe one day he would rise higher than his father. He certainly hoped so; his opinion of his father had deteriorated in the passing of the last year.

    Shaking his head to remove the white blonde hair from his pale grey eyes, he settled into a chair at one end of the enormous dining table.

“Good morning Father, Mother.” He nodded to each in turn.

His father stared back at him with the same cold grey eyes his son bore. Either side of him sat the house ghosts, each one more ghastly than the last.

“Good morning darling.” His mother replied smiling at him from his left. She was one of the most beautiful people he had ever known, and his love for her had never decreased since childhood.

“I trust you are all ready to go.” His father eyed him coldly; they hadn’t spoken since his leaving school last year.

“Yes Father, everything is packed and has been sent on its way already.” He barely concealed a smile; his father was speaking to him again!
“Good. Now, eat up, and meet us in the hall, be ready to apparate.” With that, his blonde, stony-eyed father swept from the room with an air of superiority about him. His mother smiled at him, and then too left the table, pausing for a moment to kiss her sons cheek, before following her husband out of the room.

    Scowling at his fathers’ lack of affection, the 17 year old quietly ate a little, then slowly got ready to leave. He changed his trainers for boots, and put a travelling cloak on over his crisp white shirt. He made sure his hair was just right; he couldn’t have his classmates seeing him any less than his usual best, and smirked into the mirror. Perfect. No-one could resist him, and he knew it.

    He began sauntering down the second flight of stairs, keeping to the strut to which his housemates had become accustomed. He caught his mothers’ eyes and smiled.

“Come now, we must leave at once if you are to make the train.” His father ordered, and gestured for his son to hurry.

“Yes Father.” Was all the reply he earnt.

    Seconds later they were whirling, speeding towards their destination. The train station, Platform 9 and ¾. Upon arrival, he quickly stepped away from his mothers’ caring embrace and stood searching the rabble for the familiar faces of his friends. He needn’t have done so, for they soon materialised through the crowd.

“Hey! How are you? Isn’t it great to be going back?” Said one breathlessly.

“We’ve got our usual compartment ready, you coming now?” The other queried, while giving sideways glances to his friends’ mother and father.

    The latter sneered at him, he clearly thought little of him, given his previous encounters with the teen. The former however, was polite, and smiled warmly at the two of them.

“Go on then boys, go enjoy yourselves.” She smiled, a dazzlingly white smile.

Her son turned, shook his fathers hand, then kissed his mothers cheek.

“Farewell Mother, Father.” He turned and left them, stepping into the crowd of students entering the crowd.

    They watched after him, until he was no longer able to be seen; then they too left, and apparate back to their manor.

    “So, have you seen the new students yet? There’s some in our year! …Of course you haven’t, you only just got here…” One of his friends murmured. They weren’t exactly the most clever of people, but then, that’s just what he wanted. He wasn’t to be shown up by his closest comrades. He must be superior.

    As he predicted, the stares came as soon a they entered the long corridor. Gaping faces loomed at the windows to compartments, and whispering soon followed. Every so often he would hear the word ‘Murder’, the phrases ‘…disgusting monstrosity…’ or ‘Dirty, Dark Lord following Scum.’ coupled with disgusted looks, and the occasional hand gesture.

His once friends, those belonging to his own house, even threw those hateful words about. They glared at him, even spat at him.

But his face remained as stone. It mustn’t get to him, lest he sully his reputation further. He simply carried on walking, looking straight ahead. That is, until a certain dark haired, green-eyed boy came into his view.

“You came back here after what you planned to do? You really are despicable. And I pity you Malfoy.”

   Draco’s eyes remained lifeless and emotionless as he stepped past his adversary and went into a compartment, slamming the door into the stunned faces of his friends. He couldn’t handle this, not all year round. He simply wasn’t strong enough. He may as well tell his Lord to kill him now. He knew he would fail again.

   His eyes started to well up. He shook his head violently and pulled the curtains over the doors. He threw off his cloak, leaving him in his plain white shirt and tie. He paced, before finally settling on the deep green coloured seats, with his knees drawn to his chin.

   Alone, he began to weep silently. He leant against the window, his eyes bleary and glass-like, gazing across the room at the gap between the floor and the door. His face was soon drenched, his once pale eyes bloodshot. His fringe had strayed across his forehead, obscuring his left eye. He began to rock gently, shivering, forwards and back, screwing his eyes shut.

   He felt so separate, so different from the others. They were high spirited, welcoming the new school year with bright eyes and happy smiles. They don’t need to worry like he does. They knew and cared little of the weight that he carried. They don’t have to fear every turn, they don’t have to watch their backs, receiving unmarked letters doesn’t instil terror into their hearts as they do his.

   His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of hushed voices outside the door. He heard Potters’ voice along with that know-it-all mudblood. His blood boiled. How dare they come here and even contemplate interfering with him?! He wiped his face, though it did little good, as soaked as it was. Tears clung to his eye-lashes and had given his eyes a watery appearance. He brushed his hair out of his eye angrily, and stood up. Slowly he crept closer to the doorway, listening intently to the sounds on the other side.

   “You shouldn’t have said that Harry! Even I realise what he is being put through! Don’t you realise he is being forced to do this?!” The mudblood was talking about, or more accurately, defending him.

   “I don’t care what he is being put through! This is Malfoy we’re talking about here Hermione! I don’t know why you are trying to justify his actions, but you need to stop! Do you remember the snide comments? The Curses? He tried to kill Dumbledore!” It was Harry now, on hearing his name, his suspicions were confirmed; they were talking about him. “He deserves anything he gets!”

   He exhaled, he didn’t need Grangers’ help. He didn’t want it. Why would she defend him anyway? He had never been nice to her, he didn’t warrant it, and he could definitely live without it.

Using his sleeve, his wiped his eyes, inhaled deeply, then pulled open the door.

   Harry and Hermione looked straight at him, taking in his barely damp face, his near bloodshot eyes. He smirked, a futile effort to lessen the effects of his tears.

“Talking about me?” He said in an infuriatingly arrogant voice. He leant against the doorframe in a particularly suggestive pose.

“So what if we are? Why should you care?” Harry spat, glaring at him.

“Harry and I, were just discussing whether or not he should apolog-” Hermione began.

“Shut up Mudblood. I don’t care what you have to say.” Draco cut her off, sneering down at her. Turning his attention back to Harry, he questioned.

“So, tell me. What is it that makes you stand out here arguing over little old me?”

   His maddening smirk had returned to his face, the perfect mask to his sensitivity. He shook his hair from his face once more, all the while staring intently at Harry, awaiting his reply.

“We weren’t arguing about you, we were simply debating. And now we are finished. Come on Hermione.” With that, Harry stormed off down the corridor glaring at those he passed.

   Smiling, Draco watched him disappear into another compartment before continuing.

“Granger. You should think twice about defending me in future.” He pulled her face close to his and looked her straight in the eyes. They looked back, filled with anger, fire.

“Why?” Defiant as ever, she scowled up at him. “I thought you could do with it, since everyone else seems intent on ‘bitching’ about you. It seemed you were rather helpless. The damp, bloodshot eyes, dishevelled hair, not to mention that your shirt sleeve is wet where you wiped your face.” She smirked, searching his face and listing the various signs. “You can’t hide the effects of tears you know Draco…” Her voice softened slightly.

   Draco once again pulled her close to his face so as to have her full attention. Seeing his face at this close proximity, Hermione finally saw the real Draco, and it shocked her. She took in his pale grey eyes, seeing for the first time the closely guarded emotions lying beyond.

Before releasing Hermione, Draco kissed her jaw, a look of pure revulsion formed on her face as she stood, frozen in shock. He paused by her ear and whispered.

“I have never needed you, nor will I ever, Mudblood. Though, all of this, it does beg the question…”

With that, Draco stepped back into the doorway of his cabin. Smiling, he winked at her and shut the door, leaving a confused and fuming Hermione in his wake.

   Cheered, he grinned to himself. Oh, how he loved to mess with peoples’ minds. They were so easy to manipulate, even now she was probably doubting every thought she had ever had about him. To charm Potters’ little mudblood whore, that would certainly add some humour to his year. Know-it-all bitch, how she would regret that assumption. Helpless, Draco Malfoy?

**************

   As the start of year feast began, Draco Malfoy sat alone, awaiting the arrival of the new headmaster. Obviously he had been called in regards to the incident that had cut last year short. His summer had been filled with heated discussions of his future education. His father had declared that it was high time Draco joined the Lord full-time, whereas his mother felt that he should find a new institution and continue his schooling. However, they had both been amazed and relieved when he received the letter listing the items needed for the new school year at Hogwarts; he had expected nothing.

   Although he had been allowed to return, he was still unaware of the conditions attached. As far as Draco could tell, the new headmaster was a forgiving person, seemingly believing in second chances. The attempted murder last year, for most, was the last straw. Though, as a few people at the school were aware, Draco had run out of second chances long before.
For those few, the reasons for the headmaster accepting the young Malfoy back did more than elude them.

   He pushed a strand of hair from his left eye, all the while scrutinising the elaborately decorated room. He saw through these fabrications on the truth, this person was obviously trying to hide their real disposition. The elegant curtains hanging across the bright window, the faux fur rug, the wonderfully carved mahogany desk. Each beautiful item only a pretence. This person wanted to give the impression of irrepressible power, class and quality.

It is said even the bad ones miss beauty it’s gone; Draco Malfoy was no exception to this. Recalling the haunting song of Fawkes’ mourning, Draco suddenly noticed how quiet it was in this office, and a strange sadness spread through him as he realised the Phoenix would never again grace these halls.

   Who the extraordinary new possessor of this office was he didn’t discover then, for he was summoned to the Slytherin common room to speak with the new Head of House instead. Severus Snape of course, having clearly made himself known as an active Death Eater by mercilessly killing prestigious Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, was no longer a member of staff.

   “Welcome back Mr Malfoy.” A quiet haunting voice echoed from the darkened doorway. The owner of the voice came forward out of the shadows. She was a tall, thin woman, with long black hair that framed her face perfectly. Her hooded eyes were a piercing grey, and lined with a hint of black eye shadow.

Draco gasped, his brow furrowing in alarm. He quickly shuffled backwards, driven into a mild panic by the insanity evident in her stare.

“How did you..?”

   Her voice ran like silk, mimicking her advance across the dimly lit room.

“Never underestimate him dear boy. You always were so mistrusting.” Her tone rose on these words as they hissed past her lips. Her yellowing teeth, so dazzling in memories past, became visible as a lunatic grin appeared on her face. Despite her slightly hollowed features, she still held a charm that many would come to envy. Her eyes were alert as she relayed her tale to the listening teen, constantly searching the room for prying students and trickery.

   The young blonde slowly sank into a thick plush armchair as she spoke of the battle she had fought to get here. She addressed him for what seemed like hour, stressing to him persistently the importance of secrecy.

“Our Lord obviously trusts you, or you would not be alive. I will treat you as a lesser-being but also as a confidant. You will do as I say young Malfoy, I am here to instruct you and aid you if necessary.”

   Draco nodded slowly, dumb-founded, as he watched his aunt sweep from the room. He waited until her footsteps, echoing down the stone corridor leading from the common room, died away before moving. He was shell-shocked. Never had he believed Hogwarts could be infiltrated to blatantly.

   Back in his dormitory that evening, Draco pondered on the implications for Hogwarts now that the Dark Lord had a hold on it. It had seemed impossible - in spite of the summer he had had, he'd never expected the plans to ever really happen. All of the meetings he had been forced to attend - the dark robes he had been forced to don - the bright, sinister mask he had been forced to hide behind. Everything had felt so surreal. Not even in the presence of Lord Voldemort had he really grasped that he had been pulled into this dark world of deception and torture.

   Pulling his curtains round his bed, Draco sighed. He had skipped dinner, feeling sick at the thought of a Hogwarts inhabited by his volatile, disinterested aunt. He dropped down onto his bed, and pulled the duvet up around him. Sat against the headboard, he pulled his quill and parchment towards him. He dipped the quill and moved to begin writing - but his hand merely hovered above the page. How could he speak so casually to his parents? His father practically hated him... His mother... Well, she should have told him about Bellatrix being on the premises. Why would she keep that from him?

   A flash of sadness hit him again - could he trust anyone now? His own mother appeared to be keeping things from him. How was this fair? She had seemed so normal this morning, before the journey to the Hogwarts Express. Sighing, he flicked his wand and dried the ink away from his quill. He no longer felt like writing to his parents - they did not deserve it. He placed the items carefully into the drawer in the desk beside his bed before sinking back against the headboard. He stared forwards, directly at the deep velvet green curtains that surrounded his four-poster.

   "Draco? Are you okay?" The timid words came from one of his 'best friends', Crabbe. The curtain twitched as he made to pull it back a little. "Why weren't you at dinner?" he added, a nervous edge to his voice.

   Draco inhaled deeply and replied with confidence. "I'm fine, Vincent. I just wasn't hungry. I just ate well this morning, before leaving," He smiled reasurringly at his friend when he finally pulled the curtain back - having received confirmation that Draco was in fact awake. He gestured to the desk beside him, with the inkwell still filled and visible. "I was just writing to my parents."

   Crabbe nodded and came forward, "Okay... No headmaster gave a speech this year... The whole of Gryffindor looked horrified, Hufflepuff too!" He exclaimed, a braod grin crossing his face momentarily. He instantly saw his mistake - he really shouldn't have mentioned the lack of headmaster, he should have known that it would upset his friend. Surprisingly, though, Draco covered his minute lax in composure well.

   "Oh? That's strange... Maybe they are just late to arrive..." He felt a lump rise in his throat, a worry. How would Bellatrix survive here? Did they have connections to the Ministry blocked? Or were they now in on it? The thoughts leapt around his head, colliding and diverting off of eachother. The result was a spontaneous headache. With a sudden sneer, Draco snapped at Crabbe. "Go away please, I have a headache..." He gave an apologetic smile immediately after, but made it clear that he wanted to be alone.